


The Deepest Roots

by mareyshelley



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2019, Witches, because it's yule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:41:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21889081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mareyshelley/pseuds/mareyshelley
Summary: Moving to her mother’s hometown of Storybrooke meant reconnecting with her past and finding her place. She didn’t expect to find either in the strange man who lived in the woods.Nominated for Best Creature AU and Best RSS in the 2020 TEAs.Winner of Best Creature AU and Best AU Belle in the 2021 TEAs.
Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold
Comments: 56
Kudos: 103





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nerdrumple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdrumple/gifts).



> This is my gift for Rumbelle Secret Santa 2019, for the brilliant nerdrumple! I'm so happy you were my giftee. And a big thank you to the equally brilliant Maplesyrup for beta'ing.
> 
> Prompt: Lost in the woods au

There were monsters in the forest, and fairies and wolves and other beasts. Her mother had told her so.

Every night, after reading Belle a bedtime story, she tucked Belle in with another story about the creatures living in the woods around their little town. Her father didn't like those second stories that didn't come from her mother's beloved books, but from her own experiences growing up in Storybrooke. She told Belle that the fairies loved flowers and the wolves hated silver, but nobody knew what the beast’s weakness was.

Her mother was teaching her all the magic she’d need to keep those creatures away, or to find them if she ever had to. Her father approved of that even less. He didn’t like magic and said there was nothing in the woods but stories and shadows. 

But Belle loved those stories, almost as much as she loved the stories from her books, and it was for that reason that she ran away.

It was the day before Valentine's day, and her father was setting up his flower stall with the freshest and brightest flowers from his shop. Most of them were single red roses with colourful ribbons tied around their stems. Belle took one with a blue bow from the stall, and pressed it to her nose to inhale the sweet scent while her father busied himself in his van.

That was when she spied her chance.

She glanced between the van and the end of the road. There was an opening into the woods through a narrow gap between two shops, and she could just make out the tall trees beyond.

She looked back at her father's van, waited a second or two, and when he still didn't return to his stall, she ran.

Her legs were only little, she was the shortest in her class, but she ran as fast as she could and her small size helped her to squeeze through the gap between the shops. And for the first time in her whole nine years, Belle was in the Storybrooke woods.

It wasn’t nearly as magical looking as the spells her mother had taught her. Those had glowed with swirling magic, or given off lovely, sweet and floral scents. The woods just smelled of pine, and damp soil, and something else. Something fresh.

Belle lifted her red rose to her nose and sniffed it again as she walked on.

Twigs snapped and leaves rustled around her, but she wasn’t afraid. She saw a squirrel jump between trees, and little birds flitted overhead. She even spotted the white tail of a rabbit as it hopped away.

There were no fairies or wolves or beasts, and Belle sighed.

Soon, the sound of running water joined the shuffle of the little woodland creatures around her, and that was strange. She didn’t know about any rivers nearby. Her mother had never told her about any water in the woods. She followed the sound of the heavy, rushing water, careful not to scuff her new shoes on old roots sticking up through the ground.

She was almost too careful of checking her shoes, because as she was looking down and watching her steps, she walked through a circle of red toadstools. The sound of water suddenly stopped. The whole forest was quiet, but when Belle looked up she found a tall well, with a little black roof and a bucket hanging above the hole.

Her height played against her when she tried to peer inside. She was far too tiny to see over the wall and figure out where the water had gone, but then suddenly it didn’t matter, because something scurried behind the well and Belle jumped back.

Maybe it was the rabbit, or the squirrel, or a fairy!

“Hello?” she called, leaning to the side to see around the well’s huge walls. “Are you-- Oh!”

Two large eyes stared back at her, set into a strange face. Belle squeaked and hurried backwards as the creature stood up. He definitely wasn’t a fairy. Or a rabbit. He was too tall to be either, and he was taller still than her, and thin, all arms and legs. There were no wings or fluffy tail in sight. She grinned, clutching her rose to her chest.

She'd done it, Belle thought. She'd found the beast!

"What are you doing here?" He had a funny accent, and Belle realised that _he_ wasn't a beast at all. Beasts couldn’t talk. Her mother had never mentioned beasts talking.

He was a boy, with strange gold-grey scales on his face and dark claws, but still just a boy. 

His dark eyes flicked over her, watching her nervously, and Belle tried to smile. He looked to be about the same height and age as Archie Hopper. She liked Archie. He went to the local high school and always had a smile for her when she went to Granny's with her mother.

But maybe he was older than Archie, she amended in her head as he stared back at her. She didn't know what he was. Maybe his height had nothing to do with his age. He could have been a lot older than Archie. He could have been almost double her age, Belle thought with a gasp.

"How old are you?" she blurted out. Her dad would have told her off for speaking without thinking, but she didn't care. He wasn't there and she wanted to know about the strange boy from the well.

He tilted his head and blinked, as if he was surprised she could talk.

"I don't... know. How old are _you_?"

Belle stood up to her full height and proudly answered. "Nine."

"Hm. Then I must be older," the boy decided, drawing his hand carefully from the top of her head to half-way up his chest. "Much older."

"Hey!" She swatted his hands away.

"Maybe even a hundred," he continued with a wave of his annoying hands.

Belle screwed up her face at him in her best imitation of her mother's scowl.

"You can't be a hundred. Nobody's a hundred," she reasoned logically, but he didn't listen. He straightened his back and looked away from her stubbornly.

"I am."

"No you’re not."

They stared at one another, both of them frowning. Belle scrunched up her hands into little fists, and his fingers twitched uncertainly. Eventually, he held his hands back up and flipped them in an uneasy shrug.

"Maybe I'm not quite that old," he conceded, and Belle's annoyance with the older boy faded.

"Then how old--"

"Rumple?"

Belle jumped at the sound of a new voice, echoing from the depths of the well. They both looked at it slowly, then looked at one another.

"My papa," he explained with a wince.

"Is he like you?" Belle asked, stepping closer to the well.

"Is someone there?" the voice spoke again.

"No! I mean--" He held up his hands to her in a halting motion. "I must go. You shouldn't be here."

"Wait!" She put her hand over his, where he gripped the edge of the well, and his eyes widened. "I don't know where to go."

"It's--" His voice broke and he pulled his hand away. "It's that way." He pointed over the top of the well, to a part of the forest she hadn't been before.

"But I came from that way." Belle pointed behind her with a little frown and the boy shrugged.

"You won't get out that way. They move."

Before she could ask who, the boy lifted himself up onto the edge of the well and pushed himself in. She rushed forward and tried to peer over the edge, but she was still too small. Even when she tried to jump or stand right on the tips of her toes, Belle couldn't see over the edge of the well's thick wall.

With a disappointed pout, she glanced around the woods and started off in the direction her new friend had pointed. 

"Belle!" She barely took more than ten steps away from the well before she was scooped up. She yelped in surprise, but relaxed into strong arms when her father hugged her against his chest.

"Oh, my girl." He sounded so worried, and she couldn't think why. She'd only been gone a short while. "Where did you go?"

"I wanted to see the well," she explained as he set her back down and took her little hand into his big one.

He carried on talking -- reminding her that it was dangerous to wander off on her own, especially into the woods -- as he led her back to his stall, but Belle wasn't listening. She hadn't been alone. She wanted to go back to her new friend.

She looked over her shoulder as she was pulled away, but the well was gone.

* * *

_Fifteen years later…_

Belle dropped the last of her boxes into the little apartment and sighed.

Before her father had taken her away to Australia, they’d lived in a lovely old house with her mother. Belle’s own bedroom window had overlooked the woods, and her little bookcase had been bursting with books on magic and Storybrooke legends. Now that was all gone, and she was moving into the tiny apartment above the library. The kitchen and living area were one big room with three doors; one for her bedroom, one for the bathroom, and one that led to the staircase down into the library itself. It was small, but it was home, and the library was familiar.

Becoming a librarian was the best way Belle could think of to gain access to old books otherwise unavailable to the general public. It wasn’t the same as being taught the craft by a real witch, but her father had closed her off from that world when her mother had died and he’d dragged her away from Storybrooke.

She’d never quite fit in with her father’s world. Her Australian family had been nice enough, but Belle had failed to make a connection with her cousins or the kids in her new school. Soon enough, they’d all moved away and started their own lives, and all Belle had wanted to do was return to her mother’s hometown.

The town itself had changed little since her childhood. It still had its brightly coloured seaside shops and the grey sea to go with it, and she’d already reconnected with an old school friend. Ruby had offered to help her unpack, just as soon as Granny gave her a moment to spare.

That had been a couple of days ago, and hadn’t happened yet. Belle had done the unpacking by herself. It hadn’t taken long when she’d brought so little with her, and the apartment above the library was very small. She’d bought herself a cheap bookcase and assembled it in her room, along with a bed that squeaked when she sat on it, and had spent the day unpacking her books and tools.

More than once, Belle had been angry with her father for simply getting rid of her mother’s things, but he’d been adamant that her mother’s obsession with wolves and fairies was unhealthy. He wouldn’t have his daughter turn out the same way.

In the end, keeping his daughter from those things had only fuelled her curiosity.

There was a wealth of knowledge and magic that she was missing, thanks to her father’s rash decision to move, but Belle felt confident she’d be able to reconnect with her past now that she was home.

As night fell, she waited for the last of Storybrooke’s residence to clear the streets. She kept an eye on the road below -- on those that disappeared into Granny’s, and others making their way to the Rabbit Hole -- as she readied herself. She pulled on her thickest tights and warmest jacket, slipped her pendulum, a blue lace agate, into her pocket, and took a small box from her bedside table.

Kneeling on her bed, in front of the one window in the room, she placed the box on her lap and took a deep breath. From there, she had a perfect view of Main Street and the woods beyond. The trees were black by now, silhouetted by the moon as they peaked over Storybrooke’s rooftops. If she leaned forward just enough, almost pressing her face to the glass, Belle could see the docks and the moon dancing across the black water.

Storybrooke looked magical, even if she couldn’t _feel_ any magic there, but it wasn’t the town itself Belle was interested in. She wasn’t sure how to track a _place_ , if it were even possible, but Belle had been an easily distracted child, and very forgetful. She remembered a few spells for finding things a person had lost, carefully taught to her by her patient mother. She hoped that would be enough for what she needed.

She pulled an old, fraying blue ribbon from the box and lifted it up to the window.

It was a simple spell, one she’d done dozens of times when she’d lost her keys or her mother’s necklace, but now she had to visualise a place, not an object.

Staring at the black expanse of trees until the image was fixed in her mind, Belle closed her eyes and twisted the ribbon in her hands. She pictured the well among those trees, as clearly as the old memory would allow, and tied a knot into the ribbon to remind her of the thing she had forgotten.

There was still no feeling of magic around her. Nothing happened until she tied the ribbon around her wrist, and then she felt a tug towards the window. She followed it, out of the library and down the street; the street which she had ensured would be empty as she was led through it by an invisible force pulling her wrist.

She heard muffled chatter in Granny’s and the dull thump of music in the Rabbit Hole, until it was all left behind and she only heard the woods. Trees rustled in the cold breeze, animals scurried in the bracken, and her heels stopped clicking as they met soft soil and grass. She belatedly wished she’d worn more appropriate shoes, but it was too late once the pulling into the trees became more urgent and refused to let her turn around.

It pulled her into the dark, through thorns that scratched her legs and low branches that nearly caught her hair. The pull had never felt so insistent before. It had been a gentle tug; a reminder towards the thing she had lost. This pull was desperate and unrelenting. It grew stronger the deeper into the woods it pulled her, until it felt like the ribbon would simply drag her along if she tripped and lost her footing.

The wood was dense and the trees seemed to grow taller the deeper she went. Their spindly fingers reached up high above her, but it was nearing winter, and moonlight weaved through the bare branches overhead. It followed her and lit her way against an almost black earth. She would have tripped without its help, for the darkness moved around her. Trees creaked and groaned against a chill wind, and more than once her heels caught on a fallen branch. 

But it was a root that tripped her. She stumbled forward, reaching for a tree to steady her fall, and the ribbon slithered free of her wrist.

“Wait!” she called after it, but magic didn’t work that way. The ribbon flew off into the night, obediently carrying out the intention she’d already set into it, and Belle knew it would be impossible to stop.

She slumped down in the dirt, her pride more bruised than her hands or knees, and leaned back against the tree that had caught her.

“ _Perfect_ ,” she groaned, banging her head against the trunk.

Maybe she should have waited. Maybe she wasn’t prepared or skilled enough to track a magical place.

Maybe she should have tied the knot tighter.

Sighing loudly, she picked herself back up and dusted the dead leaves and twigs from her ripped tights. Her breath escaped her in clouded puffs, another reminder of the cold prickling her skin.

Her _one_ chance to find him had disappeared somewhere into the woods, and now she would never know just how real the memory was. She didn’t have another ribbon; not the one that had been to the well with her. She would have to find another way.

Some people left offerings for fairies, to appease them or attract them to their gardens. Perhaps she could find a way to attract woodland beasts, and have _him_ find _her_.

Belle turned to make her way back to the library, and stopped.

A tree, taller and wider still than any other around her, stood in her way. The boughs groaned above her head, casting long shadows across the woodland floor, and Belle stepped back. Wind whipped around her, picking up her skirt and tangling her hair. Running through the woods seemed like a bad idea, but as the cold wind blew and dead leaves swept around her, the need to flee set in.

“It’s just the wind,” she told herself, side-stepping the great tree. “Only the wind.”

She kept her steps slow and controlled. She didn’t know why. It must have been some long-dormant instinct, or perhaps it was something her mother had warned her to do that was still locked away in the back of her mind.

 _Don’t run_ , she could almost hear her mother say. _No matter what_.

A lot of people recommended not running from wild animals. It could spook them. The sudden move could push them into attacking. Belle didn’t want to know how a woodland could attack, but it seemed safer to walk than run.

None of the trees were familiar to her now, and the moon had fallen behind black clouds. The ribbon had pulled her into the woods in such a hurry, but a sinking feeling in her stomach told her that that wasn’t why the trees were different.

 _They move_ , another voice, higher-pitched and afraid, reminded her.

Belle kept her eyes ahead, on the silver outlines of the bracken and tree trunks that were just barely illuminated by the moon. A branch snagged on her sleeve. She hadn’t seen it, but it caught her jacket and pulled her back. Something ripped, but she kept going. And going. Until another dread replaced her fear of the woods.

She couldn’t see any lights.

She should have spotted the glow of Main Street up ahead, but all she saw was trees, stretching on into blackness.

“Don’t panic,” Belle muttered to herself, looking around. _Don’t run._ “They’re only trees.”

Shapes shifted around her. Creatures flitted and fluttered to the sound of beating wings. If she stared too hard and too long into the shadows, she could almost imagine them moving. Or maybe she wasn’t imagining it at all.

Belle wrapped her arms around herself, determined not to give into the need to run, and then she heard it. Quietly, like a whisper under the noise of the wood, was the sound of running water. She turned in search of it, and behind her, in the path of where she’d just walked, stretched a tall, fallen oak. The other trees were beech and birch and maples. She hadn’t seen a single oak, and she hadn’t heard it fall.

Biting her lips, Belle stepped up to the oak and put her hand to the rough bark. There was magic in that tree. It was the first spark she’d felt in Storybrooke that hadn’t come from herself, and she remembered the light weight of her pendulum in her pocket. Pulling it out, she held up the chain and let the pointed crystal hang in front of her. The soft blue of the stone was turned grey by the dark, but it was something familiar, something light to focus on.

“Should I turn left?” she asked it, holding the point above her palm.

After a moment of thought, the crystal swung in a slow circle, and Belle frowned.

_No._

“Should I turn right?” she tried again, but the pendulum continued its steady, sure swing.

_No._

Belle looked left and right, and finally looked to the tree itself. It wasn’t too high, if there was no other way for her to go.

“Should I… climb over it?” she asked.

The pendulum slowed, almost to the point of stopping, and began to sway from side-to-side.

_Yes._

Thanking her pendulum, Belle slipped it safely back into her pocket and took in the tree. On its side, it was roughly the height of her hip; not impossible to climb, but it would be impossible to keep her dignity in heels and a skirt.

Taking a deep breath, she put her hands on top of the trunk and tried to lift herself up. The bark bit into her skin, but it didn’t hurt. It tingled with magic. A warmth radiated from the fallen log, seeping into her body as she lifted her legs up and pulled herself over.

She fell into a circle of toadstools, onto the cold, hard ground, and found her ribbon. It lay on the earth, still and magicless again, and the little knot she’d tied in it had come undone.

Belle snatched it up with a triumphant grin, her hands covered with bits of dirt.

“It worked,” she laughed, holding up the little bit of ribbon. It looked more grey than blue in the moonlight, but it didn’t matter because she’d found it and she wasn’t lost anymore and _it had worked_.

“What are you doing here?” demanded a voice from behind her.

Belle whirled around and fell straight onto her behind.

She’d hoped to find him again. The whole point of going there with her little ribbon was to find him, but now she wished she hadn’t. Or at least, she wished she hadn’t found him so soon. Sitting before him in ripped and ruined clothes, while he loomed over her in all his odd leathers, wasn’t exactly the way Belle had imagined meeting him again.

“It’s you!” she said dumbly, scooting backwards and pushing herself to her feet.

“Yes, it’s _me_ ,” he said, as if it was perfectly normal to find a whatever-he-was in the middle of the woods, and pressed his hand to his chest. “Who else would be at _my_ well?”

“I am.”

“You--” He held up a finger, about to accuse her of something, but it died on his tongue as she lifted her chin at him. She wouldn’t be intimidated by him. He may have still been taller and older and scalier, but she wasn’t afraid of him then and she wouldn’t be now.

And it was definitely him, that much she could be certain of. He’d grown into his arms and legs, and he wasn’t as thin as he had been, but it was definitely him. His nails were still dark and long, but less monstrous than Belle remembered them being, and he had the same, reptilian eyes set over high cheekbones and a pointed nose. The only real difference was his age, but his scaly skin hid a lot of the new lines on his face. He'd looked to be twice her age when she was nine, and looking at him now, he still looked twice her age.

“How old _are_ you?”

His scowl deepened. She expected him to be angry at her personal question, but those strange eyes of his didn’t seem angry. They narrowed and ran over her, scrutinising her, and Belle tried not to lean away as he leaned towards her.

She would _not_ be intimidated.

“You're the girl with the rose,” he said, a note of awe in his voice.

That caught her off-guard. Her shoulders sagged, the readiness to argue with him draining away. He remembered her!

“And you're the boy from the well.”

His whole face changed, for just a second, as a flicker of a smile pulled at his lips, but then it was gone and set into a hard line. His frown returned and his fidgeting hands clenched into fists.

“You left,” he said, and Belle frowned.

“What?”

“You _left_.”

“How do you know that?”

“You knew,” he said, like it was an accusation. “You were the last one in the town who believed in,” he waved his hand, vaguely indicating the woods around them, “ _us_. You found your way here and then you left.”

“I don’t see why that--”

“How did you get here?” he interrupted.

Puffing out a breath and trying not to lose her patience, Belle held up the ribbon she’d been tightly gripping on to. He took a step closer and held out a single finger to run it down the length of the material. It was almost as if he was testing it; touching it to feel what magic was inside it. But he found nothing, because she’d used it up making her way there, and he dropped his hand in disappointment.

“I’m surprised it worked,” Belle admitted.

“As am I.” The same finger that had so gently caressed her ribbon was suddenly pointing at her. “Magic is dying because of you, dearie.”

“How is it _my_ fault?”

“You left!”

“That wasn’t my choice.”

“You should have chosen to stay,” he sniffed, fixing his ridiculously frilled cuffs.

“I was ten!”

“What difference does that make?”

“What difference would it have made if I stayed?”

He didn’t answer. They stared at one another, and even through the dark, another image bled over his in her mind; the image of a young boy. He teased her and he was annoying, but he’d changed the moment they heard his father’s voice calling from the well.

The old stone well stood just over his shoulder, surrounded by a circle of toadstools. She couldn’t hear the water anymore, and for the first time, she realised he must have been using some sort of magic to mask the noise.

“I didn’t want to leave,” she assured him gently. “But now I’m lost. Will you tell me the way back to the town?”

Flexing his fingers, the strange man glanced around them, as though noting the woods for the first time. Or maybe he was seeing their new alignment for the first time.

“I will,” he said at last, hesitating. “If you’re willing to make a deal with me first.”

Belle narrowed her eyes. “What sort of deal?”

“Nothing impossible or unreasonable,” he promised, shrugging with his hands and shoulders in a way that told her his proposal was about to be impossible and unreasonable. “But in exchange for my help getting you un-lost, I want you to promise to come back.”

“I can come back.”

“Every night,” he answered with a nod.

“ _Every_ night?”

“For as long as you’re here,” he added, grinning and pleased with himself.

Belle twisted her lips in thought, and he leaned towards her, eagerly awaiting her answer.

“How will I find my way here again?” she asked.

The man from the well tilted his head, and ran a clawed finger along her ribbon.

“Magic, of course,” he said softly, with only a hint of his earlier amusement.

She was tempted to pull the ribbon away from his clawed hand, but if he was anything like the trees, she knew what a bad idea sudden movements could be. She didn't want to spook him, and so she stayed still. His fingers brushed against hers, and his strange eyes dropped to where their hands touched.

“There is one more thing,” he added.

Belle held the ribbon a little tighter. “What is it?”

His fingers curled around the little ribbon, toying with it as if he thought he might find some tiny trace of magic hidden away in its threads; if only he looked a little harder. Belle held her breath, waiting.

When again he found nothing, a little frown appeared over his strange eyes, but it disappeared when their eyes met again.

“Tell me your name,” he said.

“Tell me yours.”

Belle had heard stories from her mother, and had read a lot in the following years, that it was ill-advised to give your name to a fairy. He wasn’t a fairy, she didn’t think, but it seemed wise not to give him anything unless he was willing to give something in return. He had something _fairy_ about him.

His eyes narrowed, and Belle couldn’t help but smile. He took in her ripped clothes and scuffed heels, his eyes lingering over her torn tights, and stepped back. The corner of his lips twitched upward, into what she assumed was a smile of his own, and he released her ribbon with a twirl of his hand.

She realised too late that he was shooing her away.

“Away with you now, little witchling,” he said, pointing to his left, where a path had cleared between the trees. “And come back tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

The yellow candle was just small enough to sit on the windowsill in her room. Its little orange flame flickered softly, reflected against the glass and standing in contrast against the blues of the dark street outside.

Belle sat on her bed and watched the town grow quieter and emptier. A man waited on a bench across the street from the library. She couldn’t see anything of his face, only shadow cast by the shops behind him, but she was sure he was wearing a suit. It was the third time she’d spotted the man in the suit sitting there, waiting for someone or something. He usually left after a while, when whatever he was waiting for didn’t happen, and disappeared into the night.

After her years spent in Australia, she’d forgotten how quickly night came in Storybrooke. It meant that all of her visits to the well so far -- all four of them -- had been taken at night after the library was closed up and everything was covered in shadows.

She scooped up a spoonful of salt and sighed.

She’d taken to visiting Granny’s after work. It seemed to be the only way she could see Ruby or anyone else outside of people checking out books in the library.

A spoonful of pink Himalayan salt, sweetpea and rosemary for friendship, and an amethyst for good measure.

Belle put it all into a small yellow bag, and tied it with her blue ribbon. Friendship wasn’t easy to come by in Storybrooke, and she hadn’t had much luck finding it in Australia. Connecting with people had always been a struggle, and her love life had been even lonelier.

She needed all the help she could get, but her pendulum had assured her that, yes, she would find a friend in Storybrooke.

Slipping the bag into her pocket, Belle closed her eyes and blew out the candle. Thin wisps of grey smoke curled around her, carrying her intentions into the air. It was a simple spell, made with the few ingredients she had while she settled in, but already she could feel a change in the air. There was no strong pulse of magic, the kind she could feel in the woods around the well, but there was a sense of hope that put a bounce in her step as she got ready to leave.

Putting on her gloves and scarf, Belle hurried out of the library and down the street. On her first visit to the well after making their deal, she had used her ribbon again to find her way. After that, he had taken to leaving trails of his own for her. The night before, there had been a line of toadstools, reaching off into the trees for her to follow. She wasn’t sure if he had the magic to grow them himself, or if the wood was allowing her access, but finally being somewhere with magic of its own was so exciting that Belle found herself breaking into a jog to reach the woods quicker.

It didn't take her long to find that night's trail. It was snagged on a low branch, just beyond the treeline, and Belle smiled when she saw what it was.

A bright, yellow ribbon, similar in width and length to her own, shivered in the gentle breeze. Beyond that were more ribbons tied to branches and roots and bracken, each one a little further away than the last.

Belle followed the trail, collecting the ribbons along the way, and the trees creaked around her. They were moving, following her and closing up the path behind her, until she heard the sound of running water and knew she wasn’t far.

Walking in the woods was like a dream; the sort of dream where the world around you would change. The scene would shift, things would move without her noticing, but she would stay the same. Until, like a dream, she found him perched on the edge of the well. He had his legs crossed and a crooked smile on his face, and even by the moonlight she could see the twinkle of mirth in his eyes.

“I was beginning to think you’d lost your way,” he said, slipping off the well to greet her.

“Not tonight.” She held up her ribbons and gave them a celebratory shake. “Someone left a trail of ribbons.”

“How careless of them.”

Rolling her eyes, Belle turned her back on him and tucked the handful of ribbons into her pocket. She gave her other pocket a little pat to ensure her spell bag was still there. It was, and it hummed with a magic that hadn’t been there before, now that she was at the well.

 _Good_ , she thought. That meant it was working.

“Where are we going tonight?” she asked, glancing around the woods. The night before, he had shown her a clearing full of fairy circles, but now he looked at her as if he couldn’t understand a word she’d said.

“ _Going_?” he repeated, wrinkling his nose at her. “Are you so afraid that you wish to leave already?”

“I’m _not_ afraid. I thought--”

“I’m tired,” he interrupted, returning to the well. “We won’t be going into the woods tonight.”

There was a certain hesitation to his words and the way he glanced down at the well. Belle moved closer to him, so close she could reach out to touch him if she wanted to, before she realised what he meant.

“Are we going down here?” she asked carefully, peering down into the well’s darkness.

He tapped his fingers on the top of the wall, drumming out an inconsistent beat, and Belle waited patiently for him to decide what he wanted to do.

“If you wish,” he said at last, the words drawn out and low.

Humming in thought, Belle glanced between him and the well. It was the first time she’d seen anything but amusement or irritation on his face, and she took pity on him when his fingers continued their nervous twitching.

“Do I have to jump?” she asked.

A smile broke out across his face and he pulled himself up onto the wall.

“How else were you planning on getting down, dearie?” he teased, chuckling at the look she sent him. “It isn’t far. The ground will break your fall.”

“ _What_?”

He pushed himself off and disappeared down into the darkness. She leaned over and tried to listen for a splash or a thud or something breaking, but only silence met her from the depths.

She was glad that it was dark, so she couldn’t see how high she had to fall.

Holding her breath, Belle lifted herself up onto the wall, gripping to the edge of the roof to keep herself from slipping in. Which was ridiculous, really, since that was exactly what she needed to do.

Her feet dangled over the edge, swallowed by the shadows of the narrow well. It took three deep breaths before she could bring herself to shuffle closer to the edge, and then she was falling.

Cool air rushed around her and everything went dark. She tried not to reach out or kick. She was moving too fast to be able to grab onto anything. Her hair whipped around her face. Her shoes nearly fell off. Then everything stopped. She landed on something soft and bouncy, and it was only then that she realised she’d closed her eyes.

Opening them, Belle found herself sitting on a bed of dark green moss, surrounded by a circle of silently falling water. Above her, the water poured from the walls of the well without making a sound, but she couldn’t see where the well water came from. It was just… _there_ , where the high walls disappeared up into the silver moonlight above.

"Come away before it pulls you back up."

A hand, clawed but not ungentle, reached through the water and pulled her to her feet. The water filtered through a circle of rocks around the moss bed, and Belle had to hop over them as he pulled her through. She moved from the moss and the pale light, onto a wooden floor, and her clothes were dry. The water hadn’t touched her, and she wondered what magic he must have had to control the well.

“Come inside,” he said, releasing her. “Away from the water.”

Belle did as he said and stepped away from the well.

It wasn’t a thing like she’d expected, but then, she hadn’t known what to expect. There was no simple hole in the ground, nor was there a dirt burrow. It was a _room_. The walls were battened out with wooden panels, in a lighter brown than the wood lining the floor, and held up a low ceiling decorated with heavy, oak beams. Belle was glad for her shorter height. She didn’t have to duck as she passed under the beams, and he was just short enough not to hit his head either.

He left her side to attend to a log burner at the other end of the room. A warm, orange light reached across the room as he opened the door and fed it a log. Belle went to him, to where there were two armchairs sat in front of the fire. Normal, human armchairs, with faded red leather and plush cushions. The whole room was full of normal furniture. Antique furniture, yes, but it was something she’d expect to see in an old home in Storybrooke, not a home underground.

“How did this all get here?” she asked, running her fingertips along the shelf of a bookcase. There was no dust on it, and all of the books were bent and frayed. She didn’t need to ask if he’d read any of them.

“I’m a collector,” he answered simply. “Do you read?” 

“I’m a librarian.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, and Belle gave into her curiosity. He didn’t seem to mind when she pulled one of the books down from the case. He only stood beside the fire, his hands still at last as he watched her.

 _A History of the Woodland Realms,_ the title of the book read in old, gold cursive. Her smile widened. All of the knowledge that she’d lost when her mother died could be hidden away on those bookshelves. His whole collection could hold every secret she’d ever wanted to learn about her magic.

“You really are a collector,” she teased, sending him a smile.

He returned it, a slow curve at one corner of his lips, and sat himself in one of the armchairs. It must have been uncomfortable, sitting in front of a fire in his heavy leather clothes, but he crossed his legs at the ankles and settled back, perfectly content.

Behind his chair were two doorways. One had a door, closing it off from the rest of the space. A bathroom, perhaps. The other doorway was open, and showed just a glimpse of a bed hidden away in a small nook.

“Come and sit down,” he said. “Bring the book.”

Belle looked away and sat opposite him. He watched her as she fixed her skirt and pulled off her gloves, but she didn’t mind his intent stares. He was a curious creature, and he watched her as if he hadn’t quite worked her out yet. As if she were some strange, unpredictable being whose motives were impossible for him to understand.

She sent him another smile and he looked away quickly, down to the fire.

Leaving him to his brooding, Belle flicked through the first pages of the book. It was old, that much was obvious by the thin, yellowing paper, but the contents page alone told her more about the woods than she'd ever known. It had a list of woodland creatures, and the pages each could be found on. She traced the names with her finger; fairies, wolves, gremlins, and changelings. She wondered which he was.

“Do you live here alone?” she asked, looking up from the book. “What happened to your papa?”

He searched her face, as though the question could be some sort of trick, but there was no deceit in what she asked. She’d suspected since her first visit that he was there alone. Now she had confirmation, but she still wasn’t any closer to figuring out what he was. She returned to the book, flipping forward several more pages.

“He lost his way in the woods,” he answered finally, as the book fell open on the chapter about changelings.

“I’m… I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”

Waving away her apology, he slumped back in his seat, elbows rested on both arms.

“He wasn’t the first not to come back. They’re all lost.”

“Lost?”

“Wolves, _fairies_. Magic itself. It all started to fade when the last witch left. The woods need a believer. Someone in the town to sustain them. If people believe that we are here,” he met her eyes, “then we are here.”

“And if you’re forgotten...” She leaned forward, gripping the edge of the book. “That’s why my mother was teaching me about you?”

He smiled. “What better way to ensure there was always a believer in the town?”

 _All of those creatures_ , she thought, _lost_. All because her father hadn’t believed her mother.

“What are you?” Belle asked, closing the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

He raised his head and turned away, back to the fire. He drummed on the arm of the chair in the same way he had the well, and she had the sudden desire to reach out and take his hand. 

“Don’t you know?” she pressed, keeping her hands to herself.

“Of course I _know_ ,” he snapped. “I’m an imp.”

Belle frowned. Her mother had never taught her about imps, and his own book had made no mention of creatures known as _imps_.

“I’ve never heard of imps.”

“Few have.”

And it was clear he wasn’t going to tell her who, or what being an imp meant.

The tap tap _tapping_ of his fingers continued, and Belle couldn’t take it anymore. She grabbed his hand and held it firm. It worked to stop his tapping, at least, but then she had a new problem.

When she’d held his hand as a child, Belle had only taken note of how nervous he’d been. She clearly remembered his wide eyes; the shocked stare of a touch-starved boy. _An imp_. His eyes seemed even larger now than they had then, but now she also noticed the bob of his throat as he swallowed down his nerves, and the cool softness of his skin underneath hers.

He was a man now, and the touch didn’t feel so innocent anymore.

The realisation warmed something low inside her, and she pulled her hand away. His gaze dropped to the floor and Belle chewed on her lip. The deep lines on his face twisted into a frown, and it was on the tip of her tongue to apologise, but he leaned towards her and plucked something off the ground before she had a chance to speak.

“What’s this?” he asked, turning over the small and yellow thing in his hand.

Belle knew instantly what it was, but her hand still went to her pocket in a vain hope that she was wrong.

She wasn’t. Her pocket was empty.

“It’s mine,” she told him, reaching out for it, but he pulled the spell bag out of reach and tutted at her.

“Don’t snatch, dearie. It’s impolite.”

Scowling, Belle dropped her hand and sighed. That only made him smile, wide and mischievous. 

“It’s a spell I was trying,” she admitted. “Give it back.”

“A spell,” he echoed, twirling the bag between his fingers and watching the contents tip around inside. “May I make a… _small_ suggestion?”

A hesitant part of her wanted to tell him no. Spells and magic were personal, and she didn’t want him tampering with her attempts to find friendship. But another, stronger part of her was curious. What sort of suggestion might an _imp_ have that she hadn’t thought of? She had been using limited supplies when she’d made it.

She nodded and he jumped to his feet, taking her bag with him to a cabinet that barely fit into the short room. 

Standing, Belle tried to peer over his shoulders as he opened the doors at the top of the cabinet. The inside was full of glass jars and vials of all shapes and colours. Blues, greens, white, and yellows. He picked up a clear jar with a hessian cloth tied over the top.

She leaned in closer still, trying to catch a glimpse of what it was, and frowned.

“Rosebuds?” she said.

“I’m surprised you didn’t include them yourself.” He turned to her with the sort of smile that said he _knew_ she’d been expecting something more. He’d wanted her to expect more.

Passing her the bag, he waited for her to open it and took three rosebuds from his jar.

Two yellow rosebuds for friendship, and a red one. Belle watched him carefully as he took the bag and tied it up with her blue ribbon. She supposed it made sense. All friendships needed love, although she would never have considered red roses for platonic love.

“There,” he said, holding the bag by the ribbon and dangling it in her face.

Belle snatched it from him, and he giggled that strange laugh that she couldn’t help but smile at. The fact that he’d made her smile seemed to amuse him even more.

She tucked the bag safely back into her pocket and sat down, turning her back to him.

He was silent for a moment, and she wished he’d say something. Her mother had always warned her that spells were a personal thing, and to be careful about letting anyone mix their own magic with hers. Now her little spell bag sat heavy in her pocket, and the pleasant hum had become a strange tingling. It didn’t feel bad or wrong. A warmth spread from her pocket, warming her side almost as much as the crackling fire, and she decided that it didn’t feel wrong at all. Quite the opposite.

He stepped closer, with a creek of leather and the soft tap of his shoes, and she could feel him drawing nearer. It stirred the magic in her pocket; made the tingling become a warm pulse.

“You want friendship,” he said, leaning over the back of her chair.

Her breath hitched as his own swept across her neck, warm and soft. She licked her lips.

“Don’t you?”

He hummed an answer that was neither a denial nor confirmation, and leaned closer still. Belle kept her eyes on the fire. She tried to focus on the orange flickers and the warmth in her pocket, until his fingers curled around her shoulder and ignoring him became impossible.

“And here’s me thinking the little witchling would have a crowd of humans eager to be her friend.”

“No,” she muttered.

“I see.”

He hooked his finger under her chin and gently tilted her face towards him.

“Rumplestiltskin.” He murmured the word in her ear, like something sensual, or a secret. It took her a moment to realise that he was finally telling her his name.

Turning in her seat, Belle lifted her chin to him. He smiled, tentative and wary, and traced the back of his long finger across her cheek.

“Belle,” she whispered.

Pleased, Rumplestiltskin took his hand away and gripped the back of her chair. Her heart beat faster as he smiled down at her, and she wanted him to put his hand on her again.

“Do you like tea, Belle?”


	3. Chapter 3

The Eight of Cups, the Two of Cups, and the Emperor. His past, present, and future.

Belle looked over the cards and shook her head.

“I told you I wasn’t very good at this,” she reminded, ready to scoop the deck up off the floor. His dining table hadn’t been big enough to fan the cards out, and it was such a cold night that she didn’t want to leave their spot by the fire.

Rumple sipped his tea and eyed her over the rim of his cup. She’d taken to shortening his name after knowing it for a week, and that was nearly a month ago.

“You did,” he allowed, placing his cup on the floor in front of him.

Looking over the three cards he had pulled out, Rumple reached for the Eight of Cups and held it up. Belle watched him carefully, wondering if he’d grown bored already. He turned the back of the card to her, and smiled as he set it back down.

_The World._

“You can’t change them,” Belle said, holding his hand to see up his silk sleeve. “That’s not how it works.”

He pulled his hand free and tittered, wiggling his fingers at her.

“How would you know, if you’re no good at it?”

“I know _how_ to do it,” she corrected.

Holding her gaze, and with a softening smile, Rumple placed his hand flat over the changed card, and changed it back.

“Then do it,” he said, tapping the restored Eight of Cups for good measure.

Biting back a smile, Belle did her best to focus on the cards and not his frustratingly pleased face. It only encouraged him when he succeeded in making her laugh.

She looked between the three cards, from left to right, and tried to ignore him watching her. He leaned closer, and she brought her cup up to her lips to hide her smile. 

She hadn’t yet grasped how to read all of the images. He had two Cup cards; heart, emotions, the element of water. That was fitting for a man who lived down a well. The Major Arcana, like the Emperor card, were easier for her to remember the meanings of, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to focus on that card just yet. She looked to the first card instead. His past. The Eight of Cups stared back at her, and her smile slipped.

In his past she could see only one thing clearly. Abandonment. It didn't feel right to think that he had left something behind. Her gut told her that he had been left, more than once.

Buying herself a little more time, Belle drank her tea and looked at him over her cup. He was watching her rather than the cards, his own tea forgotten and going cold.

She put her cup down to pick up the Emperor card, his future, and tried to find the smile he’d brought to her so easily.

“You’re... going to be a father?”

Rumple snorted.

“You’re right,” he said, pulling himself up into the armchair behind him. “Divination isn’t your strong suit. Perhaps stick to your spell bags.”

“I did warn you,” she reminded, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue, and wasted no time in gathering the cards up before he changed his mind and asked her to finish the reading.

Abandonment was one thing. She knew his father was among the lost woodland creatures, and he’d never mentioned his mother, but telling him of a future with romance and children was a whole new path she did not want to venture down. A heat burned in her cheeks just at the thought of it, as she slipped the cards back into their box.

Since returning to Storybrooke and opening the library, there was only one person she had spent any time with. Ruby was always busy, and aside from one evening together at the Rabbit Hole, Belle only saw her during lunch hours at Granny’s. And even after her drinking session with Ruby, she’d hurried off into the woods to see Rumple.

She waited quietly as he reclined in his armchair, watching the fire with a faraway look.

The heat in her cheeks quickly turned to something else. It threatened to sink lower, down to her fluttering stomach, if she let herself think about it for too long. Her little spell bag still sat in the pocket of her jacket, and she slipped her tarot cards in alongside it.

“I think--” she began, but faltered when Rumple’s eyes snapped up to her. “It’s late,” she said, pushing herself off the floor. “I should go.”

“So soon?”

He made to stand, but Belle waved a hand and insisted he stayed seated.

“I’ve been here too long,” she reasoned, buttoning up her jacket. “I’ll come back tomorrow.”

* * *

The next day proved to be much the same. The same people came into the library to return or take out books, and Belle sat at the same desk, or walked among the same shelves. The man in the suit waited outside. It was the first time she’d spotted him during the day, but she only caught a glimpse of his face before he gave up his waiting and left.

By noon, she was already looking at the clock and counting down the hours to nightfall.

Moving to Storybrooke was supposed to help her reconnect with her mother and her heritage, but instead, Belle felt the same kind of listlessness as she had in Australia. She was just as discontent with her tiny flat above the library as she had been living with her father. Neither her librarian position in Australia or Storybrooke offered her the access to unknown books that she'd hoped it would. The only library she wanted to spend time in, to devour all of its stories and knowledge, was Rumplestiltskin's.

Later that day, when she ran to the woods earlier than usual, Belle told herself it was because of the biting winter rain. The streets were empty. Even the man in the suit hadn’t been back to the library that evening.

Dark clouds gathered over a grey sunset, and despite her hopes of visiting him before the rain came, the first shower started as she followed the golden ribbons through the trees. The bare branches offered little shelter. The rain fell in heavy droplets, seeping into her clothes and sticking her hair to her cold cheeks.

Puddles quickly formed among the dead leaves and fallen branches. Her steps churned up the ground as she hurried along, following the golden path Rumple had left for her. Mud soon caked her shoes and splashed the back of her legs. It clung to her in the same way the rain held onto her clothes.

She quickly gave up her efforts to collect the little ribbons, and didn’t hesitate to jump into the well the moment she found it. Normally, Rumple would be waiting for her outside, but she was early, and she wasn’t about to wait around in the woods any longer than necessary.

The shivering started the moment she hit the bed of moss below. A wall of warmth from the fire reached her, settling on her pebbled skin. The cold rain had chilled her through, drained her of all warmth and colour, and she wrapped her arms around herself as she fell through the silent waterfall.

“I’m sorry I’m early,” she said, dripping rain water onto his floor. “I got caught in the rain and-- _Oh_.”

Rumple was there, wide-eyed with his golden shirt half-buttoned.

“I...” His eyes dropped to her clothes, and then to his own, before his brain seemed to catch up with the moment. “You-- Sit in front of the fire,” he said, flicking his hands towards the chairs and the log burner.

Belle peeled off her jacket, and tried not to smile when Rumple took it from her. He shooed her in front of the fire and went into his bedroom.

The shivering didn’t stop until she sat in her armchair. She wore her thickest tights, a heavy skirt and a long-sleeve shirt. The shirt stuck to her skin, keeping the cold in, but the heat from the fire embraced her. It pushed away the kiss of the cold rain, until her trembling abated.

“Foolish witchling,” she heard Rumple mutter. Belle frowned, and was about to tell him not to call her that, but something heavy settled around her shoulders and gave her pause. “What were you thinking?”

He’d given her a blanket, she realised with gratitude as she hugged it around herself. The wool, thick and soft against her damp skin, was the golden blanket from his bed. She wondered if he’d made it himself.

“I’m fine,” Belle insisted.

Rumple sat opposite her, glowering as if she’d deliberately got herself caught in the rain.

“And what if you weren’t?” he shot back, throwing his hand towards her. “Say the last person in Storybrooke who believed in magic got herself sick and died. What then?”

Rolling her eyes, Belle sank down in her armchair and pulled the blanket higher around her neck.

“It’s only rain. I’m not going to _die_.” It was hard to hide the laughter threatening to escape her at his exaggerations, and she had to pull the blanket higher to hide her smile when he narrowed his eyes at her.

“Not now you’ve taken such good care of me,” she added, voice muffled by the blanket.

His eyes narrowed even further, and Belle slipped down into her chair even lower.

“I could have cast you out,” Rumple said.

“But you didn’t.”

“I still could, dearie.” He pointed an angry finger at her, but the effect was ruined by his half-buttoned shirt. Belle could see the smooth expanse of his chest, and the slight curve at the top of his stomach. Her smile pulled wider, and he must have seen the change in her eyes. He stood quickly, covering his chest with his arms, and disappeared into his bedroom again.

 _Silly man_ , she thought, biting her lip as she watched him move around in the low firelight. His skin carried an odd shimmer in the light of a flickering fire. It made his scaled, grey-green skin appear almost gold.

Belle turned her head before her thoughts could get away from her, and tried to focus on the fire itself.

"Why me?" she called to him. "Won't it work if someone else in Storybrooke believes?"

"We are bound together, witches and woodland creatures. Your roots run as deep into the woods as mine." He appeared in the doorway of his room, shirt buttoned up with a leathery, high-collared waistcoat over it. "And now we are the last of our kind."

"We can't be _the_ last," she reasoned as he reclaimed his seat opposite her. "You said the others were only lost. They might find their way back, now that there's someone who believes in them."

"Now that you're here." He eyed her pointedly, and Belle met his stare without flinching. He was the first to look away. "Perhaps."

She took the blanket away from her face, pressing her lips together. He was distracted, upset, but she didn’t think it was because she’d been caught in the rain. There was something else.

“They’ll come back,” she said gently. “You must have been lonely all these years, but you’re not--”

“I’m not lonely,” he interrupted, not missing a beat or flinching. “I’m not.”

Belle frowned, confused, and he sighed when he realised that she was looking for more than a quick dismissal. Anyone would be lonely being stuck in the woods alone for years, with the people around him slowly disappearing.

“There are certain spells. Glamours,” he explained, lifting his hand to his face. “I can go into the town whenever I wish.”

Glamours were spells she had only read about in books of fiction. She’d tried a few spells she’d found in books by more reliable authors, people who claimed to be witches, but none of the glamours had worked. 

Leaning forward, Belle let the blanket fall from around her shoulders. It slipped down her damp arms, and Rumple’s eyes followed the movement, watching her warily.

“Do you use glamours often?” she asked, holding the blanket tight. He nodded slowly, and her smile brightened. “Can I see?”

His fingers, always moving, tapped out his hesitation on the arm of his chair. Then, meeting her eyes one last time, Rumple gave an uncertain nod and stood up.

The glamour spells she’d tried had called for mirrors or something she could wear, like a brooch or necklace. One had called for a bright red lipstick. None of them had worked, but even still, she expected Rumple to reach for a mirror or a jewellery box.

He did neither.

Leaving her where they always sat together, Rumple instead went to the waterfall. The water often had a slight, pale glow where moonlight filtered in through the well’s opening above. It gave him a silvery outline as he stood in front of the fall, his back to her. He reached out, and magic crackled in the air.

Belle stood slowly. The blanket fell from her shoulder as she slipped out of her heels to tiptoe closer. Normally, the well water passed straight through them, but Rumple stood with his hands underneath the stream, washing them. He rubbed them together, let the water soak into his poet’s sleeves, and splashed the water on his face. She circled him as he did it, to the other side of the waterfall, and stepped through. The water didn’t touch her. Instead, she found herself only damp from the rain, with the silver glow of the moon shining down above her, and Rumple still washing his hands.

The water gave her a distorted, fractured image of the man on the other side. His clothes, once gold and red and brown, looked entirely black. Even the way he held himself, the way he ran his wet hands through his hair, was different. He was stiff, calm and controlled.

Belle frowned, and when he put his hands back under the water, she reached out to him and pulled him through to join her. He came out changed. The hands she held weren’t his. They were smooth, and human, and warm despite the cold water falling around them. She wasn’t cold either, not with his hands in hers.

She hadn’t seen anything like it before. A full, physical transformation was more than she’d ever thought magic capable of.

“Oh, Rumple,” she whispered, holding his hands up in a gentle grip.

Above them were the black sleeves of a suit, soaked through and pressing against his skin. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him. The thick suit shaped every curve of his body; his arms, his chest, his narrow hips. He was more covered up than ever, in wrinkled silk and wool, and yet the water-heavy suit showed off almost as much as his tight leathers.

“Belle?”

A wine red tie hung from his neck, dark and heavy with water, and she traced the length of it up from his waist to where it met his collar.

“Belle...”

Her hands moved higher, and found the smooth, cool skin of his neck; as human in colour as his hands. 

“This is--” She looked up, and found a human face looking back at her. “Magic.”

“Yes.”

She touched him then, her bare skin on his. He’d never felt so warm before. Cold water dripped down high cheekbones and a pointed nose. His features were the same, but different. She followed the lines at the side of his mouth, up to the little frown between his eyes. Even those eyes, now dark and soft, looked at her with the same reverence.

Her fingertips met silver hair, hidden at his temples. She’d always known he was older than her, but it hadn’t been clear just how much older until now.

She knew this man, Belle realised. She’d seen that face and those clothes.

“You… you’re the man in the suit,” she whispered. “Who waits outside the library.”

He nodded.

“Why?”

He shifted from one foot to the other, his hands fidgeting at his sides. He seemed torn between leaning closer to her, touching her in return, or pulling away and retreating through the water.

“To be closer to you,” he answered quietly, looking down at the narrow space between them. “In your world.”

His words brought a lump to the back of her throat. She pressed her lips together and shook her head. Rumple didn’t need to hide from her. He could have come to her whenever he liked. He could have come into the library.

“ _This_ is my world,” she said, pulling on his collar.

 _This_ world, deep in the woods, lit by the white moonlight, and surrounded by ever-falling well water. With him. That was where she belonged. That was where she felt magic at its strongest.

They leaned in at the same time, and their lips met as one. It was impossible to say who kissed who first. He pulled her closer, and she pushed them together. When his hands touched her for the first time, pressing into the wet sides of her shirt, a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold ran through her. This was right. It told her that this was right.

Belle pulled away and smiled, tracing the droplets on his nose with the tip of hers.

“I think I want you,” she whispered against his lips. She realised how silly that sounded, but he released a shuddering breath, and she smiled. “I know I do.”

Hands, trembling and determined, pulled at wet clothes. His suit wasn’t easy to remove. The heavy blazer stuck to his arms and the tie didn’t want to loosen. The more they pulled, until he was divested of his blazer and waistcoat, the more desperate their touches became. He kicked off his shoes and she threw his discarded clothes through the waterfall.

Her shirt unbuttoned and came away easily, along with her panties, leaving her in her skirt and a rather demure bra. She hadn’t planned on anyone seeing her in it, and a heat flushed her cheeks when she thought about what she would have _liked_ to wear for him. Rumple didn’t seem to care about the simple, white cotton. His thumbs cupped under her breasts, stroking the fabric and teasing her nipples through it.

It didn’t matter that they were still partially dressed. Belle couldn’t wait any longer. She pushed on his shoulders and coaxed him to his knees. He went without question, their eyes locked onto each other, and she followed him. She pushed on him until he lay back onto the mossy bed and she could straddle his waist.

“Belle. My witchling,” he muttered, repeating the words against her lips and cheek as he kissed her.

“Yes,” she encouraged. “Yes.”

Sharp nails dug into her hip, and Belle looked down. His hand had changed back. The scales on his knuckles were dusted with pale, human flesh, and the gold faded as it reached up his arm. But the dark claws were back.

“Concentration,” Rumple said, smoothing his hand down her thigh. She looked to him, into his dark human eyes blown wide. “The glamour,” he explained breathlessly. “I can’t concentrate.”

Smiling at his confession, Belle lifted her skirt and shimmied further down his legs.

“Then don’t concentrate,” she said, turning her nimble hands to his belt. It pulled away with more ease than the rest of his clothes, and she opened his trousers just enough to pull them passed his hips. “Focus on what you feel.”

“Belle...”

She slipped her hand under the waistband of his boxers, cutting him off with a groan. The well made their skin slick, and it was easy for her to stroke his length and pull him free.

“It’s okay,” Belle promised, running her fingers along the underside of his cock.

He watched her, breathing raggedly and digging his half-imp hands into her soft skin. He was nervous, she realised, unsure of her reaction.

Belle cupped his face with both of her hands and kissed him, on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, and finally his mouth. He relaxed beneath, and the hands which grasped her hips gentled as the fear drained from him.

“It’s okay,” she repeated against his lips, and reached down between them. “This is where I want to be.”

“Yes,” he agreed, gruff and almost growling as he tugged her closer. “As am I.”

Then everything slowed down. The water gushed around them, and suddenly she could feel it. Every drop of the cool spray against her naked skin, his warm body lying underneath her, slipping against hers on the wet moss, was heightened with the crackle of his magic around them. His concentration really had slipped, but neither of them cared. He made no move to correct his disturbed magic when she took his cock and guided him to her folds.

Their lips lightly brushed, just barely touching, and they gasped together as she slid herself down onto his full length.

“This is where we belong,” Belle muttered.

 _There_ , surrounded by water and earth and moonlight, with him buried deep inside her, was where her magic felt stronger than it ever had before. It hummed through her whole body, sending a tremor down her arms and legs. Rumple, with earnest eyes, leaned forward to kiss her, and ran his hands up her back. He soothed away her trembling, and when her magic settled low in her belly, calmed by his touch, Belle started to rock against him.

She started slow, matching the gentle buzzing of their magic. She’d expected her first time to hurt, or be uncomfortable. _Overwhelming_ was a better word. She was overwhelmed with the feeling of being full; overwhelmed with the sensations of being filled and surrounded by him.

Rumple groaned and lay back, and Belle pressed her hands to his chest. She dug her fingers into his shirt, twisting it and creasing it, and used him for support to lift herself up and down his length. Slowly. That was how she wanted to do this. She wanted to take him slowly, to stay in that moment together. And she wasn’t the only one whose magic was affected by their connection. Rumple’s glamour flickered and shifted, but while he stayed mostly human, his left eye remained that of an imp.

Belle smiled and reached out to stroke her thumb under his odd eye.

An energy, ancient and earthen, whispered through the air around them. It tickled her skin, mixed with the spray of cool water, and Belle sobbed at the heat it sent through her.

“Do you feel that?” Rumple asked, struggling to keep his words even. “The magic?”

“Our magic.” Curling her hand around his tie, Belle pulled him up and bit her lip. The angle shift hit between her legs in just the right way. She ground herself down on his cock and gasped. “I feel it. I feel you.”

Nodding, Rumple kissed her. He drew her close with a hand on her back, and his claws lightly scraped across her skin as he fumbled with the clasp of her bra. She wanted to throw it aside the moment she felt it come loose, but their bodies were so close, and their kiss so sweet, that she didn’t want to pull away. The friction of her body working with his, teased her breasts against the damp bra, and she moaned into his lips.

He broke away with a gasp for breath and lavished her cheek and neck with kisses.

“What do you need?” he asked, bringing his hands up to cup her breasts through the loose cotton. “Tell me what you need, Belle.” 

“You--” Taking one of his hands in hers, she lowered it between them, down to where their bodies met. His thumb pressed against her clit, drawing slow circles as she guided him. “Touch me. Here.”

“Yes, yes.” He repeated the word against her shoulder, as his hand drew soft mewls from her, and his breathing grew shallow with her rocking. “Belle.”

Her climax started to build; a warm pulsing that threatened to burst free if only she could reach it. Rumple’s fingers helped, and she grasped his shoulders, tighter and tighter, as he worked her into a frenzy. Her breath came in short pants and gasps, and Rumple’s own became heavy, strained. She knew he was close too. His hot breath puffed across her cheek, and she shivered, pressing her head against his.

“Come with me,” she pleaded, taking his free hand into hers. “Fall over the edge with me.”

His head nodded beside her, and his climax swept over him. He moaned, hoarse and breathless, and spilled himself into her with a jerk of his hips. She tried to speak, to encourage him and whisper sweet nonsense in his ear, but the words only came out as desperate whines.

Squeezing his hand, Belle reached the peak she’d been racing towards. She cried out, and he swallowed her screams in a kiss.

A lightness spread through her veins, something that she could only describe as bliss, and a tiredness that made her limbs weak. She collapsed against Rumple’s chest, both of them breathing heavily. He wrapped his arms around her -- almost protectively -- pressed a kiss into her hair and held her tight. He was softening inside her, and Belle wasn’t ready for it to be over yet. She hugged him, pressed her face into his neck, and breathed him in.

“We should move to the fire,” he said, but he didn’t make any attempt to move her. He sounded as sleepy as she felt.

Belle squeezed her eyes shut and burrowed closer still.

“You’ll get cold,” Rumple reasoned, drawing lazy circles on her back. “And we can’t have that, can we?”

Smiling, she thought of his blanket, the one he’d taken from his own bed to keep her warm, and shook her head. She kissed his neck and he brushed his fingers over her hair.

“Take me to bed,” Belle whispered. “We can keep each other warm.”

* * *

The ribbon on her wrist, a shiny gold thing tied into a bow, pulled her to the back shelves of the library.

It took a lot of concentration on what she wanted for the magic to locate a book among a room full of them, but the ribbon felt certain in its gentle tugging towards the history section. The book she wanted, the library’s copy of Jane Eyre, had been misshelved by a patron and Belle spent almost three days looking for it before resorting to magic.

Using magic at work had seemed too risky, too trivial, but it was later in the day. Everyone had left, and she was only expecting one more visitor before she had to leave.

It was a simple spell, one she’d done dozens of times before.

She found the book nestled among a low shelf of books on Ancient Greek. The little ribbon stopped pulling, and the knot came undone as she knelt down to retrieve the lost book.

“There you are,” she muttered, holding the book to her chest. “Someone’s been looking for you.”

Well, it was more like she’d been looking for it for someone else. Rumple and her had taken to lending one another books. He wanted to read books from the human world, and she wanted to read books from his. She didn't visit him every day now. She didn't need to. On the nights when she didn't venture into the woods to his well, their well, he would come to her, and they would exchange books.

“Talking to the books again, Miss French?”

Belle turned to find him standing over her, in a crisp suit that wasn’t wet or wrinkled. It was sharp, and dark, and still somehow suited him as much as his leather clothes did.

“Mr. Gold.”

“What a ridiculous name,” he scoffed. A smile played at the corner of his lips that he couldn’t quite hide, and Belle grinned as she stood up.

“I think it suits you,” she said, taking his arm. “And you have to have a name.”

He frowned. It looked a much sterner expression on his new face, but maybe that was because the lines on his face were more noticeable. When they were by themselves, and he could show his true face, his frowns only ever looked like grumpy pouts. They made her smile.

“I have a name,” he reminded curtly, walking her to the library’s front desk.

“A different name. A less conspicuous one.”

Rumple -- _Mr. Gold_ \-- scoffed, but didn’t say anything more about it. She checked out the book for him, with his new card as Mr. R Gold, and he accepted it from her without question. He trusted her judgement in books. That alone was enough to make her smile wider.

They walked out of the library together, and he waited by her side as she locked the doors. The nights were starting to get shorter now, with winter coming to an end. It meant that her visits to the well were no longer taken at night, by the pale light of the moon, but in the waning sunlight that lit her path to and from his home much easier. And if she stayed the whole night, then there would be enough light for her in the morning to walk back to the library.

“Has there been any change today?” she asked, bumping her shoulder against his arm.

“No.” He sighed mournfully. Belle sent him an encouraging smile and nod, and the corner of his glamoured lips twitched before he looked back ahead.

“You’re too optimistic, dear. No one said the creatures would be un-lost because one little witchling believes in them.”

“No one said they wouldn’t be, either,” she argued, but the hint of amusement in her voice ruined her attempt at being stern. He was an eternal pessimist, and she was determined to remind him of all the good in the world.

“It’s only been a couple of months,” she reminded. “There’s still time for them to find their way. Then the wood will be as magical as it was before.”

Rumple waved off her attempts at being positive, but she could see from the look he sent her, that soft, hopeful look in his dark eyes, that he wanted to believe.

“The woods will be fine as long as your children remain in Storybrooke,” he told her stiffly.

He said it as though her children wouldn't be his children, but she smiled at him and his serious glower softened.

 _Yes_ , Belle thought, taking his hand, _their children would never forget the woods._


End file.
